


a losing battle

by brcflovski (orphan_account)



Series: parties (or in other words, the times stan and kyle fucked, only to excuse it in the morning) [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Drinking, Drunk Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, drunk talk, fluff in later chapters, lots of drunk sex, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/brcflovski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you've hooked up multiple times, each time ending in a different sort of mess. you want to hope for a happy ending, but, here in south park, that doesn't really happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. five words

**Author's Note:**

> holy fuck. i wrote this in like an hour at 1 in the morning because i was feeling the style. i really like it. hoo hoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he says it in five words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kyle is :D and stan is :D then stan is :/
> 
> idk

He says it in five words, plain and simple, when he's drunk and you're still sober enough to regret it in the morning. 

(you do regret it) 

Stan's breath is hot against your neck, his hips rolling to meet yours, his hands twisted in your shirt. You lean against him, your hips moving against his, heavy, booze stained breath hanging in the thick air of the closet. 

Stan's hand move's to the small of your back, keeping your hips pressed to his as he grinds slowly against you. You lean your head back, eyes closed as he kisses and bites and licks your neck. The two of you are drunk - him more so than you - and that will be your excuse when the two of your stumble out reeking of sex. Briefly, as his hand fumbles with the button on your jeans, you wonder what Wendy will think of this.

He says it in five words.

(you don't say it at all) 

He cups your ass after both of your pants and boxers are kicked off and to the side, pressing you against the wall. One of his hands moves away and he sticks his fingers in his mouth and really, at least you can grant him the fact that  
he doesn't want to hurt you too badly.

(but his drunk ass is toying with your stupid, stupid heart strings) 

You press your face against his shoulder as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, soft whimpers escaping your lips. He leans his head against yours, holds you closer and it just feels so good to be near him and close to him and with him, covered in his smell and his everything. He's quiet, save for the pants, while you mumble his name again and again because you love the way it tastes on your lips.

(you figure that Cartman and Kenny are finally figuring out that the two of you are missing right about now, the former shrugging it off and the latter being worried until someone catches  
his eye)

When Stan pulls his fingers away, you whine, raising your head and looking at him. He blinks back at you, before pressing your lips together, mouths melding together, sloppy and uncoordinated. You cling to him, because your clouded by the lusty haze hanging over you and the fact that it's him, it's always been him, and you're a fucking fool, Kyle. 

Eventually, you part from the kiss and he shuffles around, batting some of the stray coats hanging up with his hands. You snort, but don't say anything as his spits into his hand, then spreads it onto his dick. You wrinkle your nose, but, again, keep your mouth shut. When he seems satisfied, he lifts you slightly, leaning you against the wall and mumbling, "Wrap your legs around me." You do so. 

You can feel him pressed against your entrance, but you focus on the fact that his lips are pressing light kisses to your cheeks, eyes shutting as you revel in the fact that this is happening. Of course, when he pushes inside of you, it hurts - you never expected it not to - but he takes it slow, easy. 

(fuck him for being so kind and gentle you wish he had been rough and mean and this would hurt less in the long run)

Five words. He says it in five, simple words.

The act of actually fucking is unpracticed and slightly disgusting, but again, you never expected it not to be. Nonetheless, you enjoy it, because it feels good, and that's the whole point of sex. 

Stan isn't as vocal as you expected him to be, a few grunts and groans opposed to your breathy moans and whisper-shouts of his name. Your hands curl into his hair as you rock against him, his hands holding you tight against him. When you kiss it's open-mouthed, wet and frantic. He presses you hard against the wall, knocking you against it frantically. You could care less.

(that's what you tell yourself, you could care less, you could care less, care less, care less) 

You come with a cry of his name, hot moans trickling out of your lips as you ride out your orgasm, his name staining every corner of the tiny closet because you say it over and over.

(stan stan stan stan stan) 

He finishes soon after, resting against you and breathing hard. You lean against him, panting and mumbling incoherently under your breath. He laughs a bit, before letting you slide off of him. Both of you fumble around on the ground for your phones and when you find yours and light up the closet, you point to his shirt. "Sorry," you say, and he looks down to note the jizz on his tee. Stan shrugs, smiles lopsidely at you and states, "S'why I have a coat, I guess."

You both dress slowly, you mostly because your ass and the backs of your legs are sore, and him because he wants to. When you're both clothed, you start to reach towards the door, but his hand catches yours.

That's when he says it - five words that burn holes into your skin - five words you'd love to hear again - five words five words five fucking words - 

"I'm in love with you."

(no he's not he's drunk and he'll only remember the sex and not the stupid words and you'll be a mess) 

You're quiet, and he doesn't seem to press for an answer. He presses a quick kiss to the top of your head, before opening the door, looking around and disappearing into the crowd.

Just like that.

You spend the rest of the night listening to Clyde and Token argue about which video game is better, chasing away the closet sex with shots and food you shouldn't be eating. 

In the morning, your mom wakes you by knocking on your door, saying it's time for breakfast. You groan and shove your pillow over your head, which is pounding. 

Eventually, you drag yourself out of bed, get dressed. Just as your about to go down to eat, you check your phone. Your stomach flops when you see a message from Stan. hesitantly, you open it.

'hey dude. sorry about last night, i think. it doesn't mean anything, right? were still best friends, right?'

(it doesn't mean anything it never means anything you dont mean anything) 

'Yeah. Things happen, I guess. And of course, dude. Best friends.'

You set down your phone, run a hand through your hair, and head down to breakfast.

(he said it in five words, and you said it in none)


	2. by accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you say it by accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stans pov of "five words" i guess this is going to become a chapter thing. so i guess keep a look out for new chapters and such. there will be sex, drama, angst and.... idk maybe there might be a  
> happy ending. i havent decided

You say it by accident.

(that doesnt excuse it)

Well, not by complete accident. You say it and you know you say it, you say it because you want that reaction you've been trying to get out of him since you pressed against him in the kitchen. You say it because you want to hear those four words you probably never will, "I love you, too."

It's stupid, and you're not as drunk as he thinks you are as you lean against him in the kitchen, trying to get his attention. He struggles beneath your weight, you're bigger, and heftier, no thanks to football and baseball. Kyle shifts, you shift, and he sighs.

"You're drunk," he says, flatly, green eyes flitting over your face. You shrug, shift away and stand in front of him. He looks bored, you think, and you'd like to change that.

(you want to see him smile you like his smile youve always liked his smile, even in middle school and freshmen year when he had braces)

"So are you," you say back, before leaning down and pressing a few kisses to his jaw. He stiffens, then relaxes, leaning against the counter and setting his beer down. You're about to move to his lips when his hand on your chest stops you, his head jerking towards the entrance.

You pull away just as Clyde and Token come bustling in from the party, talking idly. You cover your mouth, and Kyle looks between you and Clyde. After the two leave, you duck in and press your lips against his. He obviously doesn't mind because he's kissing you back, his hands curling agaisnt your chest as your hand kneads the slight chub he has on his sides. 

The two of your makeout in the kitchen for a good while, and your hands wander to the front of his pants, rolling it against him. Kyle sighs, shaking, before pushing you gently. "Not in the middle of the kitchen, dude," he says, and you nod, pulling away. The two of you look at each other for a long period of time, silence wrapped around you.

(say something say something come on stan you can do it say it say it)

"Let's go somewhere else then," you suggest. He stares at you for a long moment, before nodding slowly. You dip down and kiss his cheek, right below his eye. The red-head leans into it, sighing lightly, his hand curling in your shirt.

The two of you don't search for very long, because you pull him into the first room you find - which is a cramped and tight closet, but you don't mind because it means you're closer to him. 

The two of your press together once the door is closed, mouths melding together and hands groping at each other. No words are spoken, and theres no need for them, because actions are finally enough. You cup his face, trail down his sides, squeeze his ass, touch him everywhere because you like the way he tenses and relaxes beneath your hands, you like the way he feels when he shifts under your weight.

Kyle moans when you grind against him, it's a sound you want to hear again and again because he's moaning for you. "Stan," he says, as you reach down and unbutton his pants. You press your face to his jaw, leaving a trail kisses down to his neck. He says your name like that again, just as you shuck his pants. Your own follow quickly after.

(say something, do something, kiss him, tell him tell him, because he's everything to you - your best friend but so much more)

Pretty soon, you're knuckle deep inside him, his head against your shoulder as he ruts against you, rocking back on your fingers. You press kisses to his temple, but don't say anything, because the soft sighs of your name and the breathy moans he gives are enough to fill the silence. He's more vocal than you expected.

After a while, you can't take it any longer, lifting him slightly and telling him to wrap his legs around you. The sex is tight and unpracticed, sloppy as you thrust, knocking him against the wall. Kyle rocks forward, crying out, hands clenching in your hair. You grunt, hands squeezing his hips, lips and teeth bruising his neck. 

It goes by fast - too fast for your liking - and soon enough you're both undone and resting against each other. He says your name, quietly, over and over, a whisper of 'Stan' as he leans his head into the crook of your neck. You don't say a word, just hold him tight to you until eventually he unwinds his legs and slips to the ground.

(kyle kyle kyle kyle kyle)

You both find your phones, shining the lights around to observe the damage. He points to a jizz stain on your shirt, mumbling, "Sorry." You shrugs, "S'why I have a coat, I guess."

In silence, two of you dress slowly, sparing glances as you both pull on your hats to cover your sex rumpled hair. You stand in the closet for a moment, before he reaches toward the door. You grab his hand, and the words pop out before you can stop them,

"I'm in love with you."

(he wont believe you because its just sex and youre both drunk and tired)

He doesn't say a word, looks between you and the ground. You don't know what to say, so you kiss the top of his head, open the door and disappear.

You don't see him for the rest of the night as you guzzle down beer after beer and joke around with your other friends.

When it's morning, and you're in your bed, head thumping, you think to text him. You don't know what to say, you're fumbling for words until you type out just about the stupidest thing you could have,

'hey dude. sorry about last night, i think. it doesn't mean anything, right? were still best friends, right?'

(it mean everything, he means everything, you want him to know that you meant the words you said and the actions you did)

You stare at the screen through squinted eyes for a long while, until his message pops up with a small 'bing'.

'Yeah. Things happen, I guess. And of course, dude. Best friends.'

You set your phone aside with a sigh, rolling onto your side and closing your eyes. You think that's enough for one day.

(you said it by accident, but you meant every word)


	3. probably on purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you probably do this to yourself on purpose (kyle's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha,,, um. yeah.

It only takes three beers and two shots to get Stan drunk enough to make out with you. You think, somewhere, deep down, you do this to yourself. Pump drinks into your best friend so you can get some sort of physical attention from him, so you can hear those words you'd like to hear when he's sober. But you don't get that, so you guess him being drunk suffices.

Kenny was the one to suggest that you play the drinking game, and pretty soon, you're all drunk. Kenny and Craig are making out behind the couch, and the only reason you can tell is because Kenny moans like a porn star no matter what. Bebe, Clyde, Token, and Wendy are all passed out in a pile on the couch, Bebe wrapped up in Clyde and Wendy clinging to his side. Token is curled up on the edge, snoring softly.

(wendy was never good enough for stan anyway she deserves an asshole like clyde- wait, are they even a thing? You thought that bebe and clyde were a thing? Are they all three a thing?)

Cartman somehow convinced Butters to have a drinking contest, which ended in both of them getting sick in the bathroom, then promptly passing out there. That leaves you and Stan sitting awkwardly on the floor beside the basement door, with Stan leaning heavily on you. You let him, because that's the polite thing to do. His hand is resting on your thigh, his face turned so his mouth was against your ear.

(hes going to say words that you believe until the sun rises and you get texts from him apologizing about the night before, hes going to say words that lead you into beds and fucking closets with him, because you cant help yourself )

He hums, fingers curling against your jeans before he whispers, “I wish you would smile more.” You swallow, only listening, never responding. He doesn't need you to. “I love your smile. I loved it even when your teeth were crooked,” his breath is hot against your ear, his hand moving higher on your thigh. You close your eyes.

(he means it he means it you have to tell yourself that because in the morning he'll remind you that you dont mean anything and that hes a fucking liar)

“I love you, Kyle,” he says, quietly, barely heard over the sound of Kenny crying out Criag's name. You want to snap at them to get a fucking room, but you can't, you're glued in place by the words winding around your shoulders. “I love you so much. You're my best friend, but everything more. You're everything to me. I want you in every aspect of the word,” he moves his face lower, kissing just below your ear. You shudder, eyes still closed as his hand pets higher up your thigh. If you didn't want this, you would have shoved him away, but you do want this, you want Stan, but you want him sober. You lean against him, the two of you supporting each other, just like always. He speaks again, this time quieter, “I'm in love with you. I've been for a long time.” You find words, then, when you had stayed silent for most of his speaking,

“What about Wendy? She's your girlfriend,” you say, soft as he kisses your neck, bites down to leave bruises over the ones that have just started healing. You breathe shakily, curling your hands into fists, trying to even your breathing. Stan doesn't say anything about Wendy for a moment, running his tongue over where he bit, causing a shiver to snake down your spine.

“Just a good fuck,” he finally says, nipping again at your neck. You want to cry, suddenly, because it occurs to you that he probably says this stuff to her while sober, and when she asks “What about Kyle, everyone knows about that one time.” He probably replies with a quick, “Just a good fuck.”

(thats all you are because he cant mean any of this he never means any of it when you wake up in the morning, its just the booze talking just a good fuck just a good fuck justagoodfuckjustagoodfuck thats all you are justagoodfuck)

You breathe in shakily, and not just because he's sucking at the sensitive skin of your neck. Suddenly, you shove him away, stumbling to your feet. You remind yourself that you're drunk, just like him, but at least you've got some sense. He stares at you, mouth agape, asking, “Is something wrong, Kyle?” But you just shake your head, turn on your heel and run to the nearest bathroom. Thankfully, it's not the one that Cartman and Butters are in.

You promptly empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet, then lean against it, breathing heavily. You can feel tears stinging the back of your eyes, and pretty soon, you just let them fall, your breath heaving in your chest. Honestly, you don't remember when you start to sob, but soon enough you do, curling on your side on the bathroom floor, crying like a child.

(justagoodfuckjustagoodfuckjustagoodfuck _justagoodfuckjustagoodfuckjustagoodfuck **justagoodfuckjustagoodfuckjustagoodfuck youre just a good fuck**_)

You've cried all you can when the door to the bathroom opens, slowly, the sound of footsteps pushing off the walls, then the sound of the door closing again. You know that it's Stan, you don't even have to guess. He sits on the ground, resting his back against the cabinets. You feel him hook his arms under yours and pull you between his legs, feel his arms wind around you, holding you tight to him.

For a moment, you lay there, then shift away, rubbing at your face. “Go away, Stan,” you say, after a moment. You don't look at him, but you tell that he looks confused.

You've known him for long enough. “Could you at least tell me what I did wrong?” he asks, sounding tired, unlike he did out in the living room. You scoff, shaking your head. You pull your knees to your chin, resting your head there and staring away from him.

“Leave me alone,” you say, sounding more hostile than you meant, curling tighter on yourself. His hand touches your back, and you almost flinch away, but don't, just let his hand lay against you. You're shaking, you can feel it and he can feel it.

“Kyle-”

“Go. Please,” your voice borders on begging, and slowly, his hand moves away. He stands, but stays in the room for longer than you'd like. Eventually, he leaves, and you're alone once more.

(hes gone and thats okay because none of those things are real and in the morning youll both chalk it up to being emotional, drunk teenagers)


	4. probably an accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you just keep digging yourself a deeper hole, dont you? (stan's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha, uh. stan, bro. come the fuck on.

The first time you see him in the hall after the whole “party” incident, you feel the need to grab his shoulders and shake him roughly. You hardly remember the night clearly – you were drunk, you all were, because of that fucking game that Kenny suggested you play. But, you do remember trying to comfort Kyle, and him telling you to leave. You figure that you said something, did something. It's always your fault.

(because youre selfish selfish selfish)

The second time you see him, he sees you, too, and there's something in his eyes that you can't place. Instead of shaking him, you want to pull him against your chest, press your face against his hat and breathe in Kyle. But you don't get the chance to make any contact with him, before he slips into the crowd quickly. Your heart thumps against your chest, and your only pulled out of your daze when Wendy appears by your side, telling you about how you have to get to class.

A whole two weeks since the party pass, and you finally figure it's time you talk to him. You know where he is after school, he's always in the library, probably waiting for his dad to pick him up (since you were his usual ride). So, on Tuesday, you set out towards the library, finding him quickly. He's bent over a book, eyes focused intently on the pages. You feel nervous as you approach him, your body flushing, and you feel like when you open your mouth you might throw up.

(you havent done that since elementary school)

You slide up behind him, slowly pulling the chair beside him out from under the table. His eyes flit to the side, and you catch them widening just slightly. Then, they narrow, and he closes his book as you take the seat. “What do you want, Stan?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. You open your mouth to speak, but instead of words, vomit comes spewing out. Kyle groans, standing and staring down at his coat. You pop your hand over your mouth, standing as well.

“Fucking _WEAK_ , dude!” he shouts. You move your hand away from your mouth, pulling off your coat, and holding it out to him. Kyle looks at you like your certifiably insane, but, none the less, pulls off his coat and puts yours on. It's big on him, too long for his body. He crosses his arms, looking up at you, his vomit covered coat on the table, his brows raised. “Anything else?” He asks.

(what the fuck stan what the fuck are you really that nervous, jesus fucking chirst)

“Yeah, uh,” you say hoarsely, rubbing the back of your neck. “Let me give you a ride home. I think that'd be better to talk, yeah?” He scoffs, rolls his eyes but compromises, snatching up all his stuff and following you out to the parking lot. You both get into your truck without a word, and as your pulling out of the schools parking lot, you start, “So about the party...”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

You sigh, glance at him, then look back to the road. “Kyle, come on. It's been two weeks. Can't you just forgive me for whatever I did? I don't even remember, I was so wasted, dude,” you slow at a stop sign, giving him another glance. He looks like he's about to cry. You start to say something, then he cuts you off.

By _laughing_.

You're confused.

“Of _course_ you were, Stan,” he says, not even trying to disguise the bitterness in his voice. “It's always, “Oh, I was _so_ wasted, Kyle,” “Oh, I didn't _mean_ it, Kyle,” “Oh, it was _a huge fucking mistake_ , Kyle.” You swallow, stare straight ahead as he finally fucking snaps. “You know, it's actually _so_ funny,” he laughs again, hostility creeping into the corners of his voice, “Because I actually _believe_ you, every time your drunk, and I have some sort of sick, fucked up hope that one day you'll wake up and think, “Hey, maybe fucking Kyle wasn't such a huge fuck-up last night.” But, shit, I guess that will never happen, huh?

(you deserve this you deserve this because youre shitty because youve put him through this – and here you thought that you were the one suffering at your fault when its him and its always been him and you deserve every hateful thing he can spew at you)

You don't say anything, but your grip on the steering wheel tightens, you knuckles turning white. He continues, “I wish you would just fucking stop, Stan. Stop drinking – or being around _me_ when your drinking. Because I'm tired of hearing your stupid “I love you”s and listening to you talk about how you love my smile and my eyes and I'm just so fucking _sick_ of this, Stan.” You swallow, turning your head and pulling off to the side of the road. He doesn't seem to notice, too lost in his rant. “I'm tired of getting worked up over absolutely nothing, I'm tired of being jealous when I see you with Wendy, I'm so tired and sick of everything that's going on and I wish you would just -”

You cut him off by planting your lips firmly on his, unmoving, just a silencing kiss. You pull away after a moment, staring at him. He looks back, green eyes locked on yours. He opens his mouth to speak, but you press your lips against his again.

This time, your lips are moving against his, and his are against yours, his hands fumbling to undo the seat belt. When he finally gets it, he pulls away from the kiss, only to reach over to you and pull on your shirt, pulling until you lean closer to him. Kyle's eyes have relaxed, his demeanor changed completely. His eyes search your face, and you let him, staring at him.

“You're not drunk,” he says after a stretch of silence. You nod a bit, smiling a little sheepishly. He leans back, letting your shirt go. He “hmm”s, looking at you. You swallow, leaning back in your seat. “What does this mean, then,” he says after a period of silence, his arms crossing over his chest. You shrug in response.

(say it say it nows your chance youre sober and he'll believe you he'll want to believe you and you wont have to take it back and you can mean it and -)

You pull back onto the road, glancing at him, before saying, “Take it as an apology.” Kyle “hmm”s again, and is silent the rest of the way to his house.

You pull into the driveway, watching as he gathers up his stuff, hardly sparing you a glance as he slides out of your truck.

You watch him until he's just about to the door, then, in one of those movie-Esq moments, you roll down your window, calling, “Kyle?” He looks back at you, and you can see a hopefulness on his face, and you can feel your heart thump hard against your chest. Kyle moves back a bit, towards your truck. “What is it, Stan?” He asks, the tiredness that seeps into his voice not masking the hope.

(say it say it say it say it say it say it say it)

You stare at him for a moment, before,

“Best friends, right?”

He blinks, swallows, then slowly, ever so slowly, nods. “Best friends,” he says, and you catch his voice crack on the last word.

He bolts into his house after that, and you stare after him. It then hits you what you just did.

(you fucking idiot)


	5. what you wanted to happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is what you wanted to happen (Kyle's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you might think this is the happy ending.
> 
>  
> 
> hint: its not

After the day in his car, things seemed to return to "normal". You get rides with him, he came over to play video games, and when the two of you attended parties, he steered clear of you. In the early morning, you find him (sometimes resting against a girl, sometimes in the bathroom supporting his head against the tub), drag him out of the house, and drive him to yours. 

He'll rest in your bed until the late afternoon, when he finally rises, pads down to the kitchen and raids your pantry. Your parents don't question why you request that they try not to yell when Stan is over, and Ike only spares him glances in the halls.

It's Saturday afternoon, and you're making food for the two of you, when you hear him approach you from behind. You glance over your shoulder, before passing him the glass of water you had made for when he rolled out of bed. He takes it without a word, downing it quickly, then looking at you. "What're you making?" he asks, looking over your shoulder as you dump some cheese onto his salad. You shrug.

"Salad."

"Oh."

He watches you for a moment longer, then sighs. "So, um," he starts, and you brace yourself. He always starts something important with that. "I think we should talk." You stick forks in the salads, passing him his. He stares down at it, before starting to shovel it into his mouth. You roll your eyes, picking at yours.

"Talk about what?" you ask, before shoving a forkfull into your mouth. He swallows, then pokes around at his food. Stan clears his throat, skewering a hunk of chicken on his fork. You chew, watching him. He examines the meat, then shrugs.

"Us."

(you want to talk about the two of you as well you want to tell him that you know he only seeks out red heads to sleep with you want to tell him that he still says those things when you drive him to your house you want to tell him that you love-)

"Us?" you ask, slowly, stabbing a few leaves of spinach and raising it to your mouth. He sets his plate on the counter, leaning over it and eating, fast. He nods, and you swallow, though you haven't eaten whats on the fork yet. 

Stan pushes his food around, then sighs, looking over at you. "I don't think we can keep doing... this, you know?" You set your plate down, stare at him for a long moment. He looks right back at you. "I mean. Pretending that everything is okay when we both know that it's not. I know I fucked up, Kyle, and I don't want to keep -"

"Shut up," you say, furrowing your brow and waving your hand. "Just - just, shut up, Stan." He looks up at you, eyes widened slightly. You rake your hand through your curls, heaving a sigh. "Look, yeah. You fucked up. But, this is as much my fault as it is yours. Both of us are at fault here. I'm sorry for snapping at you like I did, and I'm sorry for shoving all the blame on you. We're both in deep. But... I don't know what you mean by doing this, I'm just being your best friend." 

He nods, poking his food again. "I know, but..." he trails off, sighing heavily. "Kyle, I -" your heart thumps hard against your chest, and you set your plate down, leaning against the counter. 

(is he going to say it is he going to say it is this what youve been waiting for) 

"- I really appreciate it."

(fuck) 

"Yeah," you say, weakly, nodding. "Thanks." Stan rubs his face, then pushes off the counter and grabs your arms. You blink, looking up at him. "What are you...?" He sighs, shaking his head.

"That's not what I mean to say, and we both know it," your heart leaps into your throat, your stomach twisting into a heavy knot. "Because, I mean, I say it all the time when I'm drunk, but it's so much harder when I'm... not." He squeezes your arms, before leaning forward and resting his forehead to yours. You breathe, shakily, because this is happening.

(this is happening this is happening this is real he's not drunk kiss him kiss him kiss him)

"Kyle, I..." He closes his eyes, and you jerk forward, pressing your lips against his. Stan makes a shocked noise, but you just press against him, tugging your arms away and grabbing his shirt. He moves his lips against yours, and you twist your head, tugging on his shirt. His hands grip clumsily at your hips, pulling you against him.

When you pull back, he looks back at you, a small smile on his lips. "I love you," he says, so soft you swear it could have just been in your mind. You sigh, tipping your head back slightly. For the first time in a while, you smile. He presses his face into your neck, and you can feel the smile. You drop your chin, resting your head against his. The two of you are quiet, embracing in your kitchen, until he asks, "So?"

You turn your face, kissing his cheek, then resting your face against him. "I love you, too, Stan." 

(you said it you said it you said it and he said it and youre getting your happy ending its going to be you and him you and him you and him)

He turns his face, pressing his lips to yours in a short, sweet kiss. When you part, you two just lean against each other, soaking in the moment before. You can feel his breath against your neck, feel his hands holding your hips against him, and you slide your hands up and over his shoulders.

Stan kisses your neck, softly, mumbling, "Hey, Kyle?" You hum, a mostly silent, "yes?". Again, he kisses your neck, softy, before he gently nips at the space between your neck and your collarbones. You sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I love you. I love you," he says, again, biting down again. You sigh, smiling, leaning your head against his.

"Yeah, Stan. I love you, too."

(is this your happy ending?)


	6. what actually happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is what actually happened (Stan's POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sO in the previous chapter, u got what kyle WANTED to happen. in actuality, this is the scene that played out.

You and Kyle return to normal, and by normal, you mean when you get wasted, fuck some girl you met at a party, then empty your stomach into a dirty toilet, he picks you up, drags you to your truck and takes you to his house. It's  
not actually normal, but, hey, you're not actually complaining.

He lets you sleep in his bed, makes you food, and basically takes care of you. Because, let's face it, you're letting yourself go. 

Even on school night, you find yourself raiding your parents liquor cabinet, drowning yourself in a bottle of Jack before you fall asleep on the couch. Kyle will call you in the morning to wake you, to which you'll answer groggily, "Hullo?" And he'll sigh, telling you to take a shower and he'll be over in ten.

(maybe you keep doing this because you like his attention or maybe you do it because youre an alcoholic. maybe both.) 

It's a Saturday afternoon when you roll out of Kyle's bed, padding down the stairs. You don't call out to him, because your head is pounding and you just don't feel like it. You find him eventually, in the kitchen making food. He takes one glance at you, hands you a glass of water, and then goes back to making the food. You down the water, then put your glass in the sink, peaking over his shoulder. "What're you making?" you ask.

"Salad."

"Oh."

You watch him, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth and chewing on it. "So, um," you start. Kyle stiffens, if only slightly, but you catch it. You take a breath, scratching at the back of your neck. "I think we should talk." He shoves the salad at you, and you pick up the plate, immediately shoving forkfulls into your mouth. He rolls his eyes, picking at his own plate.

"Talk about what?" He asks, eating some of his food. You poke around on your plate, stabbing a piece of chicken and examining it. You clear your throat, shrugging. 

"Us."

(you want to talk about the two of you talk about the times you pressed against him, touched him and listened to his moans, the way he said your name the way the two of you kissed and -)

"Us?" He asks, stabbing some leaves of spinach. You don't fill the silence, setting the plate on the counter and shoveling the food into your mouth. You nod, turning your head to look at him. 

Then, you push your food around with your fork. "I don't think we can keep doing.... this, you know?" He sets his plate down, looking back at you, silent. "I mean. Pretending that everything is okay when we both know that it's not. I know I fucked up, Kyle, and I don't want to keep -"

"Shut up. Just - just shut up, Stan," your eyes widen slightly, your lips folding. He runs a hand through his curls, sighing heavily. "Look, yeah. You fucked up. But, this is as much my fault as it is yours. Both of us are at fault here. I'm sorry for snapping at you like I did, and I'm sorry for shoving all the blame on you. We're both in deep. But... I don't know what you mean by doing this, I'm just being your best friend." 

You nod, poking at your food. "I know, but..." you trail off, sighing heavily. "Kyle, I -" you swallow, hard, bowing your head slightly. He shifts a bit, and you hear him breathe.

(hes hopeful do this stan come on just fucking say it you huge fucking pussy come the fuck on)

" - I really appreciate it."

(fuck) 

"Yeah," he says, weakly, nodding. You rub your face, then push off of the counter. You grab his arms, just looking down at him. "What are you..." He furrows his brow, but you shake your head, sighing.

"Kyle... We both.. I..." you swallow the words, then let him go, stepping back. He watches you, confusion evident on his face. "We can't keep fucking doing this, dude," you say, eventually. "Because we both know how we feel, and neither of us are doing jack about it." 

His mouth twists, and he nods, slowly. You toss your hands up, laughing a bit. "And we both know that I can't do anything because I'm weak. I'm so fucking weak! I can't even manage out three fucking words when I'm around you, at least not while I'm sober," you drop your hands to your face, scratching your face nervously. Kyle just stares blankly at you.

(youre feeling more sorry for yourself than you are him)

"We - I can't do this anymore. Because soon it's going to go back to how it was, before I gave that shitty, stupid apology," you rub your eyes, then drop your hands and look at him. He looks back, his jaw setting. His expression has gone from blank to angry. You swallow. "I don't want to hurt you, dude."

He suddenly lurches forward, and pain blossoms in your jaw. He fucking hit you? You stagger backwards, clutching at your jaw. You open your mouth to say something, but he cuts you off by shouting, "Fuck you, Stan!" You burrow your brow, but the confusion clears as he continues, "I take care of you, I listen to you when you fucking talk about Wendy, I put up with all your fucking bullshit all the time and you're trying to - to end our friendship?"

He pokes you in the chest, then shoves you backwards, bumping into the cabinets. "You're a selfish fucking prick. 'I don't want to hurt you'. Here's a big fucking shocker: you're doing it right now, asshole. God - I can't believe I -" He groans, loudly, turning away from you. You slowly push yourself away from the counter, stepping towards him. 

"Kyle -"

"Shut the fuck up," he snaps, turning around. "I love you, okay? I don't know how to get that into your thick fucking skull other than to just say it. So, there. I love you, as more than a friend, more than I love my own fucking family because, Stan, I am in love with you. I've stuck around through our fucked up childhood, I've stuck around through you literally fucking me over, and I'm not fucking going anywhere so shut your god damn mouth." 

You blink, then nod, slowly. "Okay," you say, after a moment. "Okay. I'm sorry." He breathes, raking his hands through his hair. He swallows, then looks up at you.

"So?"

You move towards the door, deciding now would be a good time to go. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" He nods, turning away and grabbing the discarded plates as if nothing happened. 

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

(this is not your happy ending)


	7. the almost fucking incident with kenny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he suggests it as a joke, but you take it as an offer (kyles pov)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was going to be a sex scene and then i was like haha nah

You're over at Kenny's, trying to distract yourself from thoughts of Stan.

He suggests it as a joke, because he knows that since you and Stan have been steering clear of each other, you've had horrible pent up sexual frustration. That was the minor plus of having your best friend be an alcoholic who happened to be in love with you and also enjoyed shoving his dick in your ass. You got sex, and being a teenage boy, you like that kind of stuff. 

(you decided that stan wasnt worth it right now - and anyway, he's probably drinking and fucking around with some girl)

Kenny asks you to ride his dick as a joke, but, flatly, you reply with, "Sure." He blinks, flicking his blonde hair away from his face. He leans forward, a sort of 'what', and you shrug, looking past him, blank. "Why not? I mean, I've got nothing to lose, right?" He scrambles towards you at that, grinning, his crooked teeth showing. 

"Hold on, seriously, man? Like, me and you, between the sheets, the matress mambo, the vertical -" you pop your hand over his mouth, a smile tugging at your lips. You nod, meeting his eyes, which are alight with excitement. He moves your hand with his, "Then what the fuck are we waiting for, dude?" He ducks forward, pressing his lips to yours.

Kenny is a good kisser. He knows what to do, how to do it, when to do it. You know it's because he's had a lot of practice (mostly with Craig and Butters), but you're still slightly, and pleasantly, surprised.

(when you close your eyes, you see stan)

He's a lot gentler, too, hands soft, brushing over your sides and your back. His fingers trail up your spine, causing a shiver to run down it. You make a small noise into his mouth, lips parting just enough for him to brush his tongue against yours. You sigh, hands sliding over his shoulders and down his back. 

The kiss lasts longer than you expect, and when he pulls away, he nods towards his bedroom. You nod back, and he grins, drawing shapes with his finger against the small of your back. You both rush off towards his room, and when he closes the door, you half expect to be shoved against the wall, or pushed into the bed, but he just grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. When it's off, his eyes run over your chest, over the small pudge of your stomach. He smiles again, and you swallow. 

He moves forward again, pressing a kiss to yor jaw, then trailing his lips lower. You sigh, breath wavering at he nips at the space where your neck meets your collarbones. He runs his tongue over where he had bit, before moving up a bit, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck. You outright moan when he does so, moaning softer when he he sucks and licks the spot. He runs his hand up your bare side, squeezing gently, stepping forward to back you up until your legs hit his bed and you tumble back onto it. 

Kenny peels off his shirt and rests his knee on the bed, leg pressed against yours. He leans down, kissing you again, and theres no need for words as he pushes you back and squeezes your sides again. This kiss is heavier, more needy, his hips pressing against yours firmly. When he rolls his hips, friction alights in your jeans and you whine into his mouth. He does it again, and a name slips pasts your lips.

(but it's not "kenny")

The blonde pulls back, looking at you. You whisper a, "I'm sorry." He searches your face, and you repeat it, voice cracking, "I'm sorry." Your face crumbles, you let out a breathy sigh, closing your eyes. Kenny stays above you, until your shoulders heave and a soft sob wracks your body. He moves to the side, pulling you towards him. You let him, because it's Kenny, and you trust him. "I'm sorry, Kenny, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to -" he shushes you.

You rest your head against his shoulder, crying softly because you just keep fucking up, because you want to pretend like you're not in love, because you just want to act like none of this shit ever happened. Kenny presses his face against your hair, rubbing your arm. "It's okay," he says, softly, hugging you tighter to him as you give another choking sob. "I'm sorry, too." You whimper, pressing your forehead against his neck.

The two of you sit in his bed, whispering "sorries" to each other until your sobs subside and you stop trembling. For a while, you two sit there, quiet, before he asks, a little laugh flitting over his voice, "So no sex?" You smack him on the chest, laughing softly.

"Probably not," you reply, shaking your head and smiling. He gives an over dramatic sigh and snaps his fingers,

"Damn, rejected again." You smack his chest again, snorting. 

"Please, you could walk outside and find someone to fuck in no time," you roll your eyes, leaning against him. He shrugs, running his hand up your back. 

(his hands are cold and stans are always warm - shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up)

You sigh, closing your eyes as you lay against him. He hums softly, a tune you don't recognize, but you don't really care, because it's nice to just be affectionate with someone who wont call and tell you it's a mistake. You listen to him hum, before, slowly, unconsciousness seeps into the corners of your eyes, and you fall asleep.

-

It's morning when you wake up, and Kenny's not in the room. You stretch your jaws in a yawn, pushing yourself into a sitting position and scratching at your hair. You hear voices, and you figure it's just Kenny and his siblings talking about something.

Except, they're yelling.

Maybe they're fighting?

You clamber out of bed, grabbing a discarded t-shirt from the ground. It's not yours, but you don't really care. When you pull it on and look in the mirror you have to laugh, at least a little because it says, "I love tits." You roll your eyes, snickering as you pad towards the door.

When you open it and peak down the hall, towards where the voices are coming from, your stomach drops.

"It's not my fucking fault he came over here, dude!"

"You almost had sex with him you dickwipe - Jesus Christ, I thought you were my friend, Kenny." 

You swallow, because you know that voice.

(youd know that voice anywhere)

It's Stan.

You waver in the doorway, listening to the two of them fight.

"It's not like we fucked! Just calm the fuck down, okay? He came over here, we talked for a while, I made a stupid joke, we made out, and then he fell asleep. I didn't even see his dick."

"You had the intention to."

"Fucking - You two aren't together or anything. You're just jealous. And you shouldn't even be, you're the one who keeps shoving Kyle away. Maybe if you would just man up and grow a pair, we wouldn't be in this situation."

You step quietly from the doorway and slowly making your way down the hall. You stand in the entrance, and go unnoticed by either of them. They're too lost in their fight.

"Maybe if you didn't have the need to fuck everything that moved, we could have avoided this," Stan snaps back, taking a step towards Kenny. The blonde holds his ground, looking up at him, jaw set. "Maybe if you weren't such a whore..." 

Kenny's hand twitches, "Maybe if you weren't such a shitty person, maybe if you weren't so fucking selfish, maybe if you would stop treating him like he's just something you can throw away - Maybe he wouldn't have come here needing to be fucked to forget about you."

(maybe if the two of you would just sit yourselves down and talk about this)

Your hand curls into a fist - because Kenny is right, he's always right. Stan starts to speak, but you clear your throat, both of their heads snapping to look at you.

"Kyle," they say together. Kenny's voice is still carrying hostility, while Stan's is softer. You cross your arms over your chest, gnawing on your lip while you look between the two. Kenny moves towards you, Stan stays where he's at.

"Uh, hey," Kenny says, tension thick in the air. You wave your hand, dismissing his greeting. Stan waves stupidly. You roll your eyes.

"Are you two done fighting?" you ask, voice flat, uninterested. Stan nods, while Kenny looks over his shoulder at him. Then, he nods, too, looking nervous. Stan shifts, slightly, drawing your attention to him. "What are you doing here?" you ask him. He shrugs, then jerks his thumb towards Kenny.

"I needed to talk to him."

(and you need him to leave, now) 

You nod, then nod again, "Right. Okay." Kenny starts to say something, but you shoot him a pointed look and that shuts him right up. "So, you two can continue fighting like children, I'm going to go home." You spot your shoes across the room and go to them, pulling them onto your feet. They both watch you, and right as you reach the door, Kenny says, "Kyle."

You turn and look at them. They exchange a look, and Kenny jerks his head towards you, lips folding. Stan opens his mouth, starts with, "I wanted to -" You wave your hand again.

"Save it. I'm leaving."

And, you do.


End file.
